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I push away the thought. What would Roxilana say? Roxilana who lived through the death of her own family, who ruled hard men and women and saw too many battles.

She wouldn’t settle.

“Memnon has been officially accused of nothing,” I say. “Any assumption of guilt on his part is pure hearsay.” I draw in asteadying breath. In a softer tone I add, “Your alpha needs to hear what Memnon and I learned last night.”

“Memnon is not welcome?—”

“I control Memnon.” I ignore the sick twist in my gut that comes with that statement. “I will give him whatever command your alpha would like to feel more at ease, but, Kane, I am asking you, as the future alpha of your pack, to listen to what we have to say.” After a moment, I admit, “I think if we want to take these people down, we’ll need your pack’s help.”

We cannot trust the Politia, and we likely still cannot trust the witches. The shifters might be the last line of help either Memnon or I have.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Kane sighs. “Okay, Selene,” he capitulates. “One last favor for a friend of the pack. Be at the cabin at six p.m. sharp.”

The line clicks before I can thank him.

I blow out a breath, then reach down my bond.

Memnon?I call out to my mate.I arranged a meeting with the lycanthropes at six to tell them what we’ve learned. Before then, I’d like to discuss with you everything we know.

I feel Memnon’s slow smile through our connection, and it makes my lower belly tighten.

Hello, my queen.

My pulse races at the sound of his voice.

I will have to meet you there,he says apologetically,but before then let us chat like this and form a battle strategy.

A battle strategy. I glance at the news article once more and take in Memnon’s grainy form. We do need a strategy.

A shiver of anticipation—and maybe a little foreboding—moves through me. It’s been two thousand years, but I’m finally starting to feel like the queen I once was.

CHAPTER 42

The meetingwith the lycanthropes is going poorly.

It has been since Memnon and I stepped into their soundproof room minutes ago. Every shifter but Kane is openly growling as we take our seats. Even their elder, Apani, appears hostile.

Vincent doesn’t bother sitting. Instead, he leans his fists on the table and glares at Memnon, his wolf shining out of his eyes.

“Let me make something absolutely clear: at this point, I don’t want to hear what either of you have to say, I’m not interested in working together, and as soon as we take a vote to remove you”—he nods at me—“as a friend of the pack, I am planning on tipping off the Politia that I know who last night’smass murdereris.”

My clasped hands tremble a little as I sit there and watch the alpha seethe across the table. I’m rusty at reining in my emotions, but next to me, Memnon is making an art of it. He’s splayed in his seat, his forefinger rubbing his lower lip, projecting only mild interest in the words being lobbed against us.

“The only reason this meeting is happening at all is because Kane insisted on it.”

Kane sits on my other side, just as he did during the last meeting.

I draw in a deep breath and force my frayed nerves to settle. “I appreciate you all coming here nonetheless,” I say.

Vincent glares at me.

“You’re an honorable man,” I say. “But the people who have hurt your pack are not. Nor do they care to play by the rules the rest of us supernaturals try to follow.”

“As opposed to your mate?” He nods to Memnon. “Don’t give me that bullsh?—”

“On Monday, November 13,” I cut in, “the night of the new moon, there will be a midnight auction at the Equinox Building in San Francisco. But this is no ordinary auction. Supernaturals will be auctioning offothersupernaturals. Witches, mages, and likely shifters.”